


Walking at the Edge of Midnight

by fierysuzaku



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 02:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13940931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fierysuzaku/pseuds/fierysuzaku
Summary: It's his birthday and instead of going home, yoosung decided to take a bit of a night time walk





	Walking at the Edge of Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Part of the bad boy! yoosung headcanons series in my MM amino but this can be a stand alone so no need to read the earlier headcanons - long story, short. yoosung went into emo rebel mode after Rika's "death" and the RFA are worried about him

It's a cold night, he sees his breath curling into a white cloud as he heaves out a heavy sigh. The bottle of soju hangs loosely around his grip, the green glass clinks against the metal rings wrapping fingers. He raises the bottle to lips and takes a gulp.

It burns. The bitter aftertaste lingers on his tongue. Or maybe it's just the taste of his newly acquired piercing mixing with the soju.

An early birthday present.

He smirks, he could almost hear their reactions now.

_"What in the world are you doing with yourself, Yoosung?"_

"I'm wondering the same thing, Zen," he mutters, looking up at the stars suddenly feeling so small, and so alone.

So empty in this vast world with nothing but the cold night sky and his thoughts to keep him company.

He wonders if his old self would even recognize the person he is now. Hair dyed black, piercings decorating his ears and brows. His warbrobe was completely redone to suit his new look, gone are his pastel shades of blue and bright colors, as they're replaced with the varying shades of navies, grays and blacks.

_I'll probably give myself a heart attack._

He laughs, already picturing it.

"And that's only appearance wise," he sighs knowing how much he changed on the inside as well.

The obedient boy, the school council president that listened and diligently did what he was told without question is no longer there.

He was supposed to come home. His parents practically begged him to. But maybe he's finally getting some bite in his tone that they actually backed off when he refused.

In all honesty, he expected Jumin to scold him again about it.

_"It is none of my concern if you choose to distance yourself from them."_

He could almost hear the cold tone emanating from the messenger when he told them he doesn't have plans on going home for his birthday. Or celebrating it all, for that matter.

_Liar. V told you to leave it alone, didn't he?_

He suspects, considering how Jumin used to lecture him on the importance of family.

But, if there's one thing he can count on V, it's to stop Jumin from butting into his relationship with his parents.

_"But I do hope you'd change your mind. Call if you need a ride home."_

In certain ways, he appreciates the offer. For someone so aloof, Jumin is unusually invested in keeping good relations when it comes to family, more specifically with his father since he barely makes mention of his mother (biological or otherwise).

But, he was sticking to his choice, and instead of a bus bound for his hometown he is here, walking around the strangely empty streets, one hand deep in his pocket to ward off the cold while the other clutches a half empty bottle of soju.

_Maybe it's time to buy some gloves._

He contemplates, recalling the nice pair of leathers on sale he saw at a shop window earlier.

_Too bad they were closed._

He frowns, silently berating himself for not wearing gloves that day.

He shakes his head, chasing away the daily thoughts that seem to amplify the heaviness in him.

It's just a stupid pair of gloves. No need to be so dramatic.

His lips thin, the grip around the soju bottle tightens as he finishes it off in several gulps.

_To keep warm._

He reasons. He's not going to turn into a drunk simply because of a bottle of soju. Hell, he doesn't even feel fuzzy yet.

So he walks. Contemplates. Ponders. Skipping through the monotony of reality and lingering at the bright spots of his black and white world.

And no matter which place or time, his thoughts always seemed to lead back to HER.

He should stop. He knows he should. Tears had been shed. Words of anger and suspicion has been cast. He should be over it by now.

_Everyone seems to be._

The familiar bubble of anger rises up in his chest and he bites his bottom lip to stop its continuing rise.

He never understood anger, or grudges. He never saw himself as the type to hold them so close to his chest.

Until now, that is.

He holds onto whatever emotions he can because without them, there is this gnawing emptiness that seem to suffocate and drown him.

He hates it. He hates feeling this way. He wants to go back. Back to the familiar obliviousness of monotony. At least then, he wouldn't be so aware of his loneliness as he allowed himself to purposely drift towards the future society shaped for him.

But.

But that would mean not meeting HER. The RFA. No more parties. No more memories to treasure and hold to make him smile.

No. THIS pain, this burden is worth it. He will gladly bear the weight of her memories no matter how much the people around him try to forget and remove her traces.

_"Her chat logs are gone. WHY?!"_

_"Yoosung..."_

_"No! Don't give me that tone, Seven. Explain to me why you erased her from the app."_

He never felt so betrayed in his life. He always thought that he could at least trust V to keep her memory strong within the organization.

_Guess I was wrong..._

His jaw tightened at the memory, how he practically lashed out at V, because how dare he, how dare he treat her memory so lightly.

_"Everyone grieves differently, Yoosung. Please, understand."_

_"I know that Jaehee, but that doesn't make it right!"_

_"Yoosung, please calm down."_

He heaves a breath, stopping suddenly to notice where his feet had taken him.

A bridge.

He looks over the edge, watches as an occasional car passes by, briefly wondering why they haven't fixed that flickering lamp post by the corner.

The world was silent. And for a moment, his heart was at peace. For a moment, in his hazy alcohol induced warmth, the world didn't seem so wide.

He looks down once more and instead of concrete, he imagines the sea. Churning grey waters.

Dark. Gloomy. Deep.

In that moment, his peace shatters as he imagines her falling against the waves, forever gone. The tears come, he can barely breathe, his knees buckle under him while his fingers wrap around the railings turning his knuckles almost bone white with the empty bottle of soju lying forgotten on the ground.

_I miss you._

_Why did you leave me?_

He can barely see, the world a watery blur as his mind calls out for her.

_Rika. Rika. Rika._

_He wishes. He pleads. He begs._

_Please, come back._

Then, he hears something clatter and drop, wiping him eyes on his sleeve, he looks down to see it was his brown hairclips, a stark contrast against the grey concrete below. It must have fallen off while he was in his crying jag.

_Pathetic_.

He sniffs, staring at the fallen hairclip, only to be struck by a memory.

"Yoosung, your hair is getting really long?" she comments, green eyes meeting his as she reaches out to comb through his lengthening fringe.

"Hm? Oh, I trying out a new look... why? Does it look that bad?" he asks, a bashful look comes over his features.

"Hmm... I think it needs something..." she mutteres, eyes suddenly brightening at an idea, "oh, I know!" she exclaims, clipping off a pair of brown barrettes and placing it on his bangs.

"There. Now, you look extra cute!"

"Fuck," he swore, rushing to get up only to see a passing car run over the hairclips crushing them beneath its wheels.

_**NOOOOOOO!!!!** _

He ran. As fast as he could, rushing straight towards the spot where the pieces lay scattered, gone beyond repair.

His mind was blank. All he could hear the resounding words in his head.

**Gone**.  
_Broken_.  
_**Dead**_.

He was just about to go and cross the road mindless of the possible on coming cars when he was suddenly yanked back. He was about to protest when said yanker practically shoved him against a post freezing him on the spot with the sheer force of it.

_Wh-_

"What the fucking hell?! Did the cold freeze your brain or something?!" Gold eyes glare at him, an unfamiliar dark look on his face as practically snarled at him.

"S-Seven?"

"Answer me, Yoosung Kim!" he demands, shaking him up, his glare not faltering a bit as Yoosung guilty bit bottom lip.

He was angry. Okay. An understatement. Seven was VERY angry. And Yoosung has the sinking feeling he was a main cause of it.

"Seven, I -" he falters, it was stupid. Completely and utterly stupid if he thinks about it now.

He almost got himself hurt all because of a pair of hairclips.

"I'm sorry," he says, as he refused to meet his friend's fuming glare.

"Sorry? Is that all you can say? Sorry?" He was seething, his grip on Yoosung arms tightens with bruising force as he grits his teeth in anger.

"Seven, it hurts," he winces, and just like that Seven lets him go. He dares to look up, surprised to see that instead of anger, a look of utter dismay and disbelief was painted on Seven's face.

"I... I'm sorry. I was j-just so upset," he stutters, suddenly shifting to angry, "you could've been run over, you idiot!" he yells out in reprimand, making Yoosung flinch a bit at the volume.

Perhaps Seven understood the reaction differently as another look of panic flashed in his features, "I.. Yoosung, I didn't mean that. I wouldn't hurt you, I swear."

"Seven, it's fine," he assures only for the other to snap at him.

"No, it's not!" he says, hands balling to fist as he takes several breaths, as if in a desperate bid to calm down.

"I-I shouldn't have... it's wrong. Friends don't... don't..." he turns away, unwilling to meet his eyes.

"Seven," he reaches out, slowly grabbing the jacket sleeve giving it a tug, "Seven, look at me."

No response.

"Seven, please. Look at me. I'm FINE," he stresses, hoping to make the other open his eyes.

"Seven, it wasn't even intentional... you didn't know your own strength," he explains.

"That's not an excuse," he mutters in reply, finally meeting his gaze. Golden amber bright with unshed tears.

"I'm a horrible person."

~~"Just like her."~~

Maybe it was tone of surety behind the first statement, how his shoulders sag as he said it that made Yoosung snap, almost completely missing the latter.

"What are you talking about?! Seven, you're like one of the best people I know. Sure, you sound totally crazy sometimes but who in this world isn't. You are a lot of things Luciel Choi but you are not a horrible person. You're my best friend for God's sakes!"

"Don't say that! You shouldn't get close to me like that. It's dangerous!" Seven says, his voice taking on a more desperate tone.

This time, it was Yoosung's turn to grip his shoulders and give him a good shake.

"I don't give a shit. You're my best friend and that's final!"

"You don't know what you're talking about. One day, I could disappear. Gone without a trace."

The sudden thought of him gone from their lives made something in him curl and boil.

_Yeah, right. I bet V would know._

He suspected, eyes narrowing at the thought, but choose to let that particular detail go for a while.

_Now, is not the time for that, Yoosung._

"Well, you're still here aren't you? You're not gone yet Seven, and even if you are, it won't change what you are to me or to the RFA."

"Yoosung..." Seven looks up, finally meeting his gaze fully this time.

It breaks his heart to see his friend so vulnerable like this. He's so used to seeing Seven so happy go lucky that he forgets that just like any person in this world, he has his own set of issues to deal with.

And judging from the way he reacted earlier, Seven's issues runs a bit deep and darker than average.

"Come on," he says, opting to change the topic, letting go of Seven's shoulders, "it's getting pretty late so-" he pauses, his ears catching something Seven muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" he askes, watching Seven shift a bit, debating on whether to repeat his words or not.

"Seven, talk to me."

"Can we," he bites his lower lip, clearly hesitant but with a deep breath, he continued, "can we get some ice cream?"

* * *

 

If it was cold earlier, it's practically freezing now. So if he thinks about it, an ice cream break is not really the best choice considering how low the temperature is, but screw it, what is hypothermia to being there for your friend. And something told him to just go with it because Seven rarely lowers his defenses like this.

So, there they were, sitting on a park table outside of nearby local 24 hour convenience store eating ice cream of all things.

"So... we've dealt with my mini breakdown. Is it Yoosungie's turn now?"

He looks calmer now, no longer so distraught, but Yoosung still couldn't help but suspect that his friend is still far from okay.

"How did you even find me?" he asks, letting Seven have his way. It didn't feel right to pry, especially since he tended to clam up whenever the tables have turned.

"I was running some errands," he answers in a rather evasive manner that told Yoosung what exactly his said errands were.

"Were you stalking me?!" he exclaims, both shocked and offended at the fact that Seven decided to do this.

_I'm not a baby, dammit!_

"I just..." he sighs, "look Yoosung, you know we worry right? Like legit worry about you?And when you told us you wanted to be alone on your birthday... well... let's just say it wasn't purely a solo decision."

_Oh, that sounds even better._

He frowns at the thought that the rest of the RFA had decided to task Seven in "watching over him" on his birthday.

"I can take care of myself," he protests, only to meet Seven's look that seems to challenge him to go on with his rant.

"..."

"Okay, not really the best time to say that but, I'm fine, Seven. How 'bout instead of worrying about me, why doesn't the RFA plan parties instead?" he challenges, voicing his frustration of the stagnant way their organizational activities came to a halt.

_Rika wouldn't want that._

_She'd want us to continue helping. Doing good things. Not. Not THIS._

"You know, why. V is still grieving. Just like you are," he replies in a tired tone, this wasn't the first instance Yoosung voiced his opinion.

"Exactly! But despite that, I want to hold another RFA party anyways."

"Not everyone is like you Yoosung. Not everyone has the luxury of having his heart on a sleeve," Seven points out, tone suddenly turning sharp and reprimanding.

"You mean how you like to hide behind this mask of yours?" he retorts, giving the other his most caustic glare.

He was itching for an argument.

An argument Seven was not in the mood to indulge.

"Stop. Pause. Rewind. We're talking about YOU, not me this time," he reminds, "You almost got yourself killed running blind like that," he says, eyes softening in worry.

"There weren't even that much cars..." he mumbles.

"That's even worse since people tend to speed during those times."

"Seven, can't we just both agree to let this go? I won't poke if you don't," he sighs, he has heard this talk time and time again.

In different versions.

With different people.

He's dealing with stuff. He gets it.

He's taken to an unusual form of coping mechanism. Not the most ideal method, true. But it helps him.

Seven stares at him, turning his attention back to his cup of soft serve. Satisfied that he avoided another lecture, he allows himself to relax and enjoy the peace.

That is until...

"You miss her," he says out of the blue, eyes staring at the empty cup of ice cream in his hands.

_So much for catching a break._

"Seven," he starts to protest only to be cut off.

"Let me finish," he interrupt, his big gold eyes begging.

_Fine._

Taking his silence as cue, he continues, turning his gaze back to the empty ice cream cup.

"You miss this person and sometimes the tiniest stupidest things could set you off. You get lonely and you feel alone, as if a part of you is missing. So you keep yourself busy. Distracted. Because that way, your thoughts won't revolve so much about them."

A bitter smile laces his lips and somehow Yoosung feels Seven isn't talking about Rika anymore.

"I want to tell you it'll get better but sometimes it doesn't," he turns to meet his gaze, so tired and sad, as if carrying the weight of the world.

_What happened to you Seven?_

"You don't forget. But that's okay, it's okay to remember them. Yeah, there will be bad days but there will be good days as well,

"And those good days? The days where you feel happy instead of sad. Where you smile instead of cry. Those days are the best because you know that their memory is still strong keeping you alive.

"So yeah, keep her memory alive in your heart Yoosung. You don't need chat logs or a pair of hairclips to know what you shared was real because, it is," he smiles, the traces of sadness around his eyes almost nonexistent.

Almost.

"Seven..." he grapples for a response, he found none except the truth, "thank you."

Seven nods in acknowledgement, standing up to offer him a hand. It was time to go home.

* * *

 

"Well, this is me. Thanks again," he says as they reach the entrance to his dorm.

"Not the most ideal way to spend your birthday, huh," Seven jokes, giving him a familiar grin.

"I dunno, a night out with my best friend eating ice cream at some random bench in the park seems like a good memory to keep," he muses, giving Seven his own smile in turn.

"I'm glad. Mission accomplished! Happy Birthday, Yoosung," he greets, giving Yoosung's shoulder a light clasp before making his exit.

"Have a good night," he nods, "And Seven?"

"Hm?"

He turns, gold eyes curious and expectant.

"Whoever that SHE is? You're not her. You'll NEVER be her, so cheer up. Okay?" he says, watching as Seven's features open up in surprise.

It earns him an amused chuckle.

"Bad boy Yoosung saves Agent 707 again," he muses, his gaze turns appraisingly towards the night sky, "thanks, but... no more poking remember?" he reminds with a smile.

It wasn't the wide cheezy smile he's used to. It looks smaller. A lot more softeness at the edges.

It looks more... genuine.

"For now," he agrees, not really up for hashing out emotional turmoils at the moment, "but I hope, one day, you can wear your heart freely on your chest," he adds making Seven smile a bit more.

"Good night, Yoosung."

"Good night, Seven."

* * *

 

The next morning, he finds a small box sitting on his windowsill with a note saying Happy Birthday.

It was a pair of clips with a detachable skull accent in the middle along with a few more matching accessories.

A small smile curls on his lips.

He flips his phone, ignoring the unread messages (he'll respond to them later) and sent a text.

_**"Bad boy Yoosung sends his thanks. I hope you have a good day, Seven."** _

He was about to prepare for the day when he heard his phone ding.

_**"I hope your day is good too, Yoosung."** _

\- _end_ -

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Well, that's all folks! Did i just seriously make a fic for a hairclip headcanon? Why, yes. To my utter surprise, i actually did. Comments are always lovely. 
> 
> Bonus content: 
> 
> \- the skull accessories have inactive tracers in them, you know, just in case the boy decides to add runaway to his bucket list of rebellion
> 
> \- Seven made them himself. like legit handmade hairclips and skull accessories


End file.
